The LuckMaker
by ladyowl
Summary: "My summer journal: summer after 4th year. Plans, thoughts, lists, questions. Spies, sneaking and other paranoia. Gym progress and results. Notes and comments on summer reading." -Hermione Granger, Luck-Maker


standard disclaimer applies

The Luck-Maker

Entries 1-14

* * *

There's something terrifying about realizing that the person whose supposed to be the hero is completely incapable taking down the "Big Bad." I'm praying [to whom, anyway?] that he figures it out on his own. But, somehow past experience doesn't give me much comfort. He's always been the sort to rely on "shear, dumb luck" as Prof. McGonagall once called it. That phrase keeps coming to back to me.

Honestly, it's only in a story that a hero goes to fight the villain and his terrible monster empty-handed, with no training, and no plan. And twice-fold a story for that clueless hero to succeed and rescue the girl. Granted, I haven't hear the exact story of what happened in the Chamber of Secrets, but what I have heard gave me the creepy feeling we were reading some sort of Young Adult Fantasy Novel.

And what would have happened if I [and Crouch Jr] hadn't been feeding him spells to make it through the challenges last year? It's terrible that Diggory died. But, how is it possible that Harry didn't?

It has to be Luck. Yes, with a capital L. The thing is, sooner or later, luck has to run out. And we have to keep winning [in relative terms, after Cedric's death] even without that luck.

Because what happens to us if Voldemort wins? At the bottom: I'm muggleborn. And I have a family that'll be threatened when things get bad. And they will get bad; Voldemort is back. It's not going to get better until someone steps in to fix things.

I know that it's usually my place to trust "The Authority." But I can't be the only one who thinks Dumbledore is blinded by Harry's luck. He's the sort that thinks victory should come from luck – look how Voldemort was last defeated. He's the sort who seems to believe that the fairy tale narrative is possible – even realistic. Maybe he even expects Harry to defeat Voldemort with some appeal to true love.

I'm worried that I've become too cynical. Maybe there's some appeal to this luck-victory that only true Heroes see, and I'm too jaded – at fifteen, really? - to see it. I'll grant you coincidences and some small amount of luck, but no one should actually expect this sort of deus-ex-machina business to give you answers in real life.

If I unthinkingly get off the Underground on the side closest to the street-corner I want to be on, it's a happy coincidence. It's a circumstantial victory – but not really a success. It doesn't – shouldn't – count for anything other than chance. After-all, I had a fifty-fifty shot. And, my chance of independently – with this Luck thing – replicating it four times running is one in 16.

But, if I make myself a note after that first luck-victory, and mark for myself that I should get off near the end of the train, or towards the advert of the girl with the hat, then I can stack the odds in my favor. Make the events dependent, rather than independent. And then I can win any time I'm paying attention, without running the fifty-fifty odds every time I take the Underground.

That's called, I don't know, preparation? Revising the questions you know will come up? Making your own luck? Luck-Making?

Wouldn't running into Voldemort four times before you're 15 be at least a little bit of a tip-off that you're likely to run into him again? How is it possible that no one else thinks Harry should be considering this, at least a little bit?

Somehow, everything keeps coming back to Harry. So Harry - who isn't a studier, and seems to have been infected by Dumbledore's confidence - needs to be given the tools to defeat Voldemort. And he has to be given them by someone he trusts.

I mean, can you imagine him running to a professor when he next gets a hint of a threat? I guess that means that it's my job [because there's no way I'm trusting this to Ron's study habits] to make luck for Harry, after he's blown through his allotted share.

And, no, before you ask – I promise the mental picture of meeting Harry and Ron at 9 and three-quarters looking like that girl on the film posters with the tank top, and the greasepaint and - Circe! those arms! - doesn't come anything into my interest. Honestly.

Right, well. Off to dinner; Mum's made curry.

* * *

Am I supposed to be starting this thing with "Dear Diary" and ending with "Hugs and Kisses, Hermione Granger?" I mean, I know that writing down thoughts is supposed to help clear them up – that's why I'm doing this, anyway. But, does it have to fit into the standard teddy-bear pattern?

I had a diary like that once. And, it's a bit sweet to read the things I wrote in there. ["Dear Diary, do you think Sarah will be my friend? I helped her with her maths homework, but she didn't want to sit with me at lunch. Maybe I'll bring her some sugar-free lollies tomorrow..."] But, I don't think I'm exactly the Dear-Diary Teddybears-And-Sugarfree-Lollies kind of kid anymore. Not after the spells and curses for the TriWizard, the time-turner, being petrified [remind me to thank Penny for carrying that mirror, please...], even the troll.

I suppose it doesn't really matter how I sign the thing. It's not like anyone else is going to read it. I might even chose the most ridiculously peppy thing I can think of. Just for encouragement.

So/Best, the Luck-Maker.

* * *

Was up early this morning. Had the brilliant idea that I would go running, and then do some calisthenics afterwards.

But I don't think anyone has ever told me that running for even ten minutes is hard. And, in the interests of full disclosure, I'll reveal that I did five push-ups, and about 10 sit-ups, over twenty minutes.

Then, I went back to bed, and ate waffels for breakfast when I woke up again.

I think that if I expect to get anywhere with this fitness thing, I've got to ask Mum to sign me up at the gym.

But, I've owl-ordered the next year's textbooks, and I'm really looking forwards to them. In the mean-time, I may re-read the Ancient Myths book in the living room. There seems to be a lot more parallel than anyone would have thought.

Best, Luck-Maker

* * *

We went together, Mum and I. It was all very cliché. Nice, mind you. But, cliché.

We brought along magazines – don't even ask how many back-issues of Nature I've missed – and ran/walked on the treadmill. And, Mum told me about some of her most recent patients. Mr. F who doesn't floss, and then complains when dentist visits hurt. Mrs. J who put a lolly in her mouth on her way out of the office lobby. The little boy Adam that only opens his mouth wide when he's playing dinosaur.

And, when it's my turn to talk, I lie. Gods, I lie. How we had an academic tournament this year, with two other schools. How it was just like Quiz-Bowl, and how there were two Hogwarts contestants, and how I knew one of them. How there were some tricky questions, like what did the Merfolk language sound like, and what were the differences between dragon breeds.

And, I redirected. I said I went to the Yule ball with a Bulgarian named Victor, and that he was very gentlemanly. But, I certainly didn't mention that he was a champion, because then he would obviously be three years older than me. Which, in hindsight, is actually kind-of creepy. But, maybe it doesn't count because he's Vicky, and of course he wouldn't take any of the girls that was mobbing him.

Oh well. Pen-palls can't hurt, right. Because, well, I wouldn't mind if he saw me with the tanktop and the - right. Back on track.

And I mentioned how Ron was a bit jealous of Harry, but that they reconciled halfway into the fall term. But, I didn't mention that the reason they reconciled was because Ron decided that someone actually was out to kill Harry. Or that the Death Eaters succeeded in killing Cedric, and would have killed Harry too, if it weren't for this unbelievable, ridiculous luck of his.

I'll admit that I may have led Mum to believe that my interest in exercise is because I thought Vicky was cute. I didn't say anything about this "let's prepare, so that at least one-third of the trio will have trained to run and dodge and get through the next obstacle course [can you believe I almost wrote curse?] for more than just a few weeks."

The gyming was a bit inconvenient for Mum, though. She dropped me back at home before she went off to work, so it was a decent detour.

Maybe, I'll tell her that I can take the bus back home on my own. I mean, I'm 15, I can handle it. And, I think I would like to try one of those dance or spinning classes. I looked in the open door, and it almost made me lonely, watching these women together.

Luck-M

* * *

Let me say before anything else, that spinning is a lot harder than it looks. I swear, it should just be peddling that stupid bike. But then we're adding resistance, or sprinting, or trying to peddle by pulling the peddle on the upwards part of the stroke. And, I feel like a clutz. It's been a long time since I've felt this out of my depth at anything.

But the teacher – emphatically not a professor, I've learned – was kind, and encouraging, and I'm going to go back tomorrow.

Meanwhile, my arithmancy text has arrived. I was puzzling out an example problem at the kitchen table when Dad got home from work. And, he looked over my shoulder, and brought me his old Linear Algebra textbook. And, I wonder a bit why it is that no-one in the magical world seems to consider "the Universal Language" for even half a second?

Luck-Maker

* * *

Getting up this morning was terrible. Bending over and lifting my legs to put on my trousers was a horror, and I had to hold onto the stairs to get down for breakfast. I feel half crippled, and was seriously considering just saying "no thank you" to this gym idea.

But, Mum looked at me sympathetically, and shepherded me into the car anyway. I treadmilled with her. I considered that to be virtuous enough for today, and went home. Maybe I'll go back to the spinning class tomorrow. Or the day after. Or whenever it doesn't hurt to walk anymore.

Is there something wrong with me that I like doing the "busy-work" problems at the beginning of the chapter questions? It's just reassuring that the problems all have the answers. That I don't even have to worry about the method, or anything. Just plug and chug with the example method. Ego-problems, Mrs. McKenzie from 5th form would have called them.

Although, I have to admit that I didn't do all of the Gauss-Jordan problems in Dad's Linear Algebra book. Half an hour doing row operations, and my eyes thought they would cross if I had to subtract across rows again.

So, I took R. Gale's "History of Wizarding Philosophy" out to the park across the street, and sunbathed. Did you know that there's actually a significant school that thinks that the most physically-improbable things are the easiest to cause magically? Just because no one spends much time thinking about the physically-improbable?

It's a bit like that joke about the "million-to-one" probability.

I swear the wizarding world sounds like something someone made up when they were drunk off their minds. If that's even the phrase for it.

LM

* * *

Harry's sent me one of his information-request letters. And, funny enough, as soon as I'd finished reading it, I got an owl from Dumbledore, asking me not to send any sensitive information through the mail.

So, this is sketchy on multiple levels. I mean, this is Dumbledore – unless it's someone impersonating him – admitting to monitoring my mail. And asking me to withhold information from my friend. And, assuming that I know anything sensitive, despite the fact that I haven't had any contact with the wizarding world since I've gotten back, unless one counts the owl-ordered books. And if the letter-author is already monitoring my mail, they would have to know that.

I don't know how to respond.

Obviously, if I'm serious about this Luck-Making business, I'm going to have to learn how to feed Harry information discretely. And the now I know that letters are suspect.

It makes me wonder, am I being followed? Is my phone tapped? [by the way, do wizards even know how to tap phones?] Is someone reading this diary [Cough, Journal, Cough] over my shoulder? How paranoid am I?

What a mess. I wonder what Mum and Dad would think if I went on a Sandbaggers and Le Carre spree?

Since I forgot to report it, I did got to the gym today. But, again, only treadmilling. We'll see about tomorrow.

The Luck-Maker

* * *

My thighs are a bit better today, even if my butt is still unhappy.

I did both the treadmilling, and the spinning class. And, I watched the other people in the gym. I didn't see anyone who obviously wasn't used to the muggle world, and there weren't many people wearing clothes that can conceal wands. They wouldn't go so far as to recruit squibs to watch me, would they?

I honestly hadn't been bringing mine with me, but after yesterday... So, I used sports tape, and taped my wand to my thigh. Not the most comfortable under athletic shorts, but oh well. It also makes a bit of a lump; I've no idea what to say if anyone asks about it.

The only motive I can think of for people to watch me would be because I'm a friend of the Boy-Who-Lives. But, that doesn't narrow the field down very much.

But, if someone doesn't want me to talk to Harry, then there's an easy test to see if they're watching me. I thought of it on the treadmill today, and I suppose I'll test it on my way home from the gym tomorrow.

I'm going to write my plan down fully, in case I [Merlin, this is creepy to write] don't come home tomorrow. I'm going to leave my Journal out on my desk tomorrow morning, so that my parents will read what's been going on. I've also cut-off a piece of my hair, in case that sympathetic water-mirror Divination isn't complete garbage. [That is, so that you can ask someone to find me or my body.]

Here goes: tomorrow, at approximately 10 in the morning, I will go to the public library, and ask for a copy of the Surrey phone book page with the numbers and addresses of any families named Dursley. I will then go to the public phone outside of the library, and close the doors [how thick does a physical barrier need to be to block an unforgiveable?], and call the potential numbers to confirm that there is a Dudley Dursley in residence. I will then mark down the address corresponding to Harry's family. I will then wait 10 minutes inside the phone booth, and call the number again. This time I will ask to speak with Harry Potter. I will repeat a nonsensical phrase twice, then hang up.

I expect to be back by 11, and absolutely no later than 13. There is no innocent reason why I might not arrive home tonight.

If for some reason I am feeling threatened – with obliviation [a memory-removal curse] or otherwise – I will put my pen into my pocket, ink first, without a cap. If I cannot remember why I have a stain in my pocket, I have been obliviated.

I will put a willow twig into my pony-tail when I leave the gym. If I do not have this willow twig in my hair upon arrival home, I have either been searched or other wise physically disturbed. Or I am not myself. That is, the person in my clothes [and body] will resemble me, but will not be me. [Or, this person will be someone impersonating me with a potion called Polyjuice that can change someone's appearance.] If, you [my parents] suspect that I have been replaced, ask me what happened when we visited the National Museum when I was eight. If you [Harry/Ron] suspect this, ask me what I thought in first year was worse than death. Obviously, I will not record the answers here.

Mum and Dad: I love you very much, and I hope that whatever happens, you know that you did everything you could to protect me. Sometimes it's more important to fight for an important cause than to stay safe, and this is one of those times.

Harry and Ron: Well, I love you too. And good luck. Stick together, and please take care of one another.

Wow. This sounds sappy and I really hope [twice-over] that no-one ever reads this.

Hermione Granger, Luck-Maker.

* * *

Conclusion is that either whoever is watching me doesn't care about telephone messages, or no-one was physically watching me [at the time?].

Which I've got to say, is a relief. It makes me feel a little silly to have been so melodramatic yesterday, but then I've got to think: better over-prepared than under-prepared. Besides, I still think the test was logical, given that my mail is certainly being tracked.

I considered ripping the previous page out, but I don't think it's a bad idea to have a list of standard safety protocols. I think I'll copy the list someplace [maybe the back few pages of this journal?] with a nicely formal name like "Recognition And Treatment Standard Operating Procedure." RAT SOP. Because I think I was pretty well on a roll with SPEW, and I can't believe no one realized that was deliberate.

Anyway, Harry has got to be confused beyond belief now. I mean, "I am a Goose, and I may have a Fox. Confirm, I am a Goose, and I may have a Fox?"

I meant for it to mean something like – I don't actually know what's going on [Ignorant Goose, yes?] but might be watched. But, I honestly don't think that he's going to understand what I sent.

Well, I suppose I can call him tonight to explain, now that I know its safe.

Speaking of, I think I did the dentists-office-voice well, during my first call. I was very: "Good afternoon, Mrs. Dursley, I'm calling to let you know that it's about time for your son Dudley's dentist appointment." I figured there cannot be more than one family ridiculous enough to call their son Dudley Dursley in the whole of England, never mind Surrey.

If nothing else, I've got a future as an public-service caller. And I found the right Dursleys on the third call.

Gym was fine, by the way. I think it helps to be pre-occupied during spin class.

Luck-Maker

* * *

Couldn't actually call Harry last night. So, I repeated the gym (with the spin class!) – library – call exercise. Although, I spent my time in the library taking out the spy novels, and was a whole lot less nervous during the telephone conversation. I told Harry what was going on, but that I didn't actually have any news, and he seemed about as down and grumpy as at the end of the year. I guess it hasn't been very long since I got back.

It was a beautiful day so I walked home. Then read a bit of transfiguration theory. I'm a bit confused about the sixth of Claudius' Laws of Composition and Substance. Sent McGonagall an owl asking about references that go further into the explanations. I hope it doesn't bother her to get owls during the summer.

LM

* * *

When Mum and got off the treadmill this morning, one of the women trainers mentioned that she'd seen me at the gym all week, and would I like some advice?

And, apparently, the best way to slim-down and become fit is strength-training. Not cardio. Because, again apparently, strength training builds muscle that increases your metobolism permanently, where cardio only burns calories while you're on the tread-mill.

[It all made me wonder a bit about that girl in the tank top with the smoke on her cheek and the greasepaint, until Sandra – the trainer – said that women physically don't have the hormones to end up really bulky. So, sleek arms and legs come from lifting weight. I'd say it's all a little counter-intuitive, except that I spend nine months of the year in a castle with moving stair-cases.]

Anyway, Sandra gave me a short little demo of squats and bench-presses, and lunges with free-weights, and an entire little booklet of exercises. And said that whenever I want, she'll find me a lifting partner. It's a nice offer. I imagine having a partner is a way of providing social accountability to people who come to the gym individually.

Maybe she feels bad for the girl whose mother ditches her after half an hour. Or, maybe she thinks I need the help? Or, maybe she's just genuinely friendly. Wow, it's been a long time since I've met one of those.

LM

* * *

On the way to the gym, Mum asked me about our August holiday plans: whether I'd rather Copenhagen, Florence, or Athens this year. I said they all sounded good to me, and that she should ask Dad. Honestly, I'm looking forwards to leaving. I wonder whether its more the Ostrich Fallacy or the Wishful Thinking Fallacy to assume that nothing bad can possibly happen while I'm out of contact with home.

Oh well.

I took Sandra up on her offer, and she introduced me to Jenny. She's a nice girl, blonde, and a bit plump. Does noticing that make me shallow? Anyway, she doesn't seem much like the giggling type, which is a bit of a relief, although I did have the standard difficulties describing myself in Muggle terms. For the record, my favorite subject is Maths. That's close enough to Arithmancy, right? Although, maybe I should have said Mythology.

Sandra stayed with us, to show us how to spot each other.

It was pleasant, actually, to have someone to encourage, and be encouraged by. Also, to chat a bit between sets. And, is it so bad that I'm pleased to be just a little bit stronger than her?

Oddly cold and damp today, so I read Tinker Tailer Soldier Spy on the couch. Hot chocolate and a book. It reminded me of winter...

LM

* * *

Found a new favorite core exercise. Jenn and I do sit-ups on an incline across from each other, and throw a medicine ball back and forth in time with the sit-ups.

I'm really liking this pair thing.

And, flipped through the Charms book. Wasn't feeling it, so Smiley's People.

Moscow rules, anyone?

LM

* * *

Stomach hurts for the obvious reason. Got out of bed to call Jenn, and then back to bed again with a hot water bottle. Will try to doze off, but until then:

Things to ask:

are Patronus messages interceptable? Or audible to anyone but the target?

what about the ministry airplane messages? Range?

If muggle communications don't work at Hogwarts, where do they work?

What do the Death Eaters use to communicate?

Can we [I] learn to intercept the above?

Actually, same for the Ministry and Dumbledore? (Does he have a group, and what are they called?)

on an unrelated note, is there a way to protect my parents' house? My parents in general?

Where does someone learn about warding?

Are there any drawbacks to warding a structure? That is, if I put up a ton of protection – nevermind how – will my parents lose their telephone? Be able to invite friends?

Why isn't there a search-able database/expanding-notebook/file-folder/four-centuries-prior-analogy equivalent for the library. What would it take to expand/cross-reference my notebooks into something like this?

Sub-question of the above: is there a self-updating encyclopedia, like there's a self-updating Hogwarts: A History? What does it cost and how do I get it?

Sub-sub-bullet: I've just owled Flourish + Blotts to ask. Also, a copy to Mme. Pince.

And now, I'm off to bed. Maybe Dad will make me some soup for dinner...

LM


End file.
